As the years passed away,
The past is like a bouquet;
A blurry mix of colors and hues,
And just like yesterday's news,
We remember only a few.
But the past is never dead,
Some stay in our head;
Some we set them apart,
These stay in our heart.
Like still remembered dances,
And questions without answers,
The years reduce to traces,
Like so many unanswered prayers.
As the years passed away,
The past is like a bouquet,
Trying not to wilt today.
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 6:58 AM UTC
As Christmas draws near,
just so you get it clear;
it's to hail a birth of ancient days,
it's to sing songs of quiet praise;
it's to raise a toast and be amazed,
it's to amend your dietary ways;
more than enriching makers of beer,
more than just temporary cheer;
more than seeing sparkles of light,
more than seeing a fat man in flight;
so let me whisper a secret in your ear,
it's to celebrate the death of fear.
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
What keeps the stars apart?
I have often asked;
Is it Science, or is it Art?
As I boarded the bus.
What makes fire hot and water wet?
I have often asked;
You don't know the answer, I bet?
As I got off the bus.
One and one is two, we know by heart?
But once we are alerted,
Science is just like abstract Art,
Just a lot more introverted.
What keeps friends together?
I have often asked;
Is it Spirit, or is it Matter?
No, just wear no mask.
Why is life so complicated,
I have often asked;
Everything is calculated,
To shatter like glass.
Maybe it is quite simple after all?
I have often been told;
Cure first the things that are small,
Like the common cold.
I say what really really really matter,
I have often answered;
Is see above the skin, but below the feather,
And bury the dogs of war we butchered.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 12:00 AM UTC
It matters to me why
the sky is not blue today;
It matters to me why
my wine lost its bouquet.
It matters to me why
breathing is now harmful;
It matters to me why
we killed the Golden Rule.
Is it because we don't know
what is good from bad?,
Is it because we don't know
we have all gone mad?
Is it because we don't know
the sky is falling down?,
Is it because we don't know
Earth can again drown?
Sing the day at every dawn,
for the night may not come,
Sing the day at every dawn,
don't play deaf and dumb.
Savor the night when it comes,
for sweeter is the new morning;
Say a prayer when day is done,
blaming God is more appealing.
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
Behind my old house
once grew a mango tree;
last year they chopped it down
to build a highway, toll free.
It never inspired much awe or poetry
it was like other mango trees,
under which I played since I was three
and was home to some possessive bees.
When strong winds blew
it never bowed,
its branches somehow grew
that is until now.
The ground on which it stood
is now covered with asphalt,
and it will never be understood
as to who was really at fault.
And as for the bees
well, I never did like them,
but then you see
they were here longer than I am.
My neighbors and cousins
with whom I had lots of fun,
seek all sorts of reasons
why now we have none.
I can only say, for what's worth
when the Almighty does an inventory,
He may label planet Earth
"An old cemetery".
Dec 31, 2010
Dec 31, 2010 at 4:24 PM UTC
There is a Professor Robbie,
who has a calculating hobby;
He delights in asking his pets,
with multiple inherent defects,
or not too brainy, to be exact.
If 2n is more or less than 2-n,
and 3x is same as 3 men, then,
the study of maths be banned.
With that Robbie will surely object,
for he makes a living on the subject;
He takes not too kindly our slow wit,
and chips away our esteem, digit-by-digit.
Equations after equations, he blast,
until one brave pet, at long last,
who sees more value in a candy bar,
than juggling numbers to solve algebra.
So Robbie, will you be ever so kindly,
spare the aging cells of these cuties,
singularly or simultaneously.
So loose no healthy slumber,
by chasing after prime-numbers;
And we who have trouble with dy or dx,
well, there is always graphic ***
If you think this -- dX+2(x^2 - x*y^2)dy=0 -- is cool,
to make idiots out of fools,
do not be easily trapped,
into giving polite claps;
or stare at them with awe,
for they are nothing more,
than saying pluses can turn into minuses,
and at times even used as voodoo curses.
But Robbie will still caress them tenderly,
like they are his little babies,
annoying different people, differentially.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 3:12 AM UTC
As you embark on your study of the law,
which by all accounts has no real flaw;
Some kindly advice from a lawyer of old,
don't ever, ever believe what you are told;
Whereas, the above is no malicious deception,
Wherefore, the advice herein is the exception.
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 10:34 PM UTC
Amelia, our baby first,
in nine months have grown a third;
no speech, no talkie,
all she wants is walkie-walkie.
Being our first we naturally debate,
on how best to educate;
dolls for girls and guns for boys,
what nonsense, toys are toys.
Will she a doctor, lawyer or housewife be,
I live long hope to see;
right now she is just naughty,
and breaks the dining cutlery.
Of food she is choosy,
and eats most daintily;
she is chubby and she is fair,
we only lament her lack of hair.
Every now and then a few steps she takes,
tip-toe grace does not a ballerina makes;
like all parents our hopes high burn,
to a swan, our little Amelia turns.
Knowing games played by Fate,
we have decided, now of late;
to take the profit with the loss,
to let nature takes it's course.
The things of value we provide,
the self-life chart she decides;
this happy burden, we dare say,
is gladly borne, day-to-day.
As we look on her behalf,
down life's long and winding path;
we can only say, with a sigh,
sweet dreams and goodnight.
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 3:43 AM UTC
It's the night before
Christmas,
all is quiet and still,
a knock on my door
harsh as winter's chill.
No one is really there
I know,
just wind-blown leaves,
borne on icy air
with nowhere to go.
I look at the door
handle,
***** and rusty brown,
like a window decor,
stopping no thief or vandal.
There's room here somewhere
I know,
for wind-blown leaves,
borne on icy air,
with nowhere to go.
Dec 24, 2010
Dec 24, 2010 at 6:39 AM UTC
It cannot be
that we are
child of the sea
and not the star
Look skywards
in silent wonder
with silent words
and not here under
Who sings to the dawn
when night is gone
not tyger or fawn
and not fish or prawn
Come back home
the stars do cry
from heavenly dome
and not airless sky
Lift your eyes, if you can
and see the stars that glow
that's our mother land
and not here below
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 5:29 AM UTC